


Do Not Disturb

by orphan_account



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: 8k words of gay nonsense, Anal Sex, Banter, Bonding, Bottom Malcolm, But only a little one, Cool bird socks, Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex, Gratuitous Smut, Light Masochism, M/M, Malcolm cannot and never will stop talking, Malcolm is a total twink, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive JT, Rough Sex, Safer Sex, Size Difference, Size Kink, Smut with a side of fluff, So much talking, Soft JT, Too many page breaks, Top JT, bratty sub Malcolm, just a lot of talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21555829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Malcolm grinned at the ceiling over the mass of JT’s back, each press of his hips sending pleasant thrills up Malcolm’s spine. He slid his hands down to feel muscles move under JT’s skin, then raked his nails down to the line of his belt, fabric catching under his fingers. JT hissed and bit down on his pulse point in revenge, letting up a moment later to growl, hoarse in Malcolm’s ear, “Don’t make me ruin you, Bright.”“God,” Malcolm moaned, the words sending a pulse of heat through his body, “Ruin me.”An alternate ending to Speakerphone.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/JT Tarmel
Comments: 38
Kudos: 225





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Speakerphone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21498883) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 

> It's a genuine honor to be the first person to post some Brimel smut on this lovely hedonistic website. A big thank you to batonblue for their cheerleading and headcanons about JT's apartment, which they so generously let me borrow.
> 
> Note that things start out because they're both shitfaced, but things are fully consensual and this is confirmed once they start sobering up.
> 
> Finally, this fic is sponsored by the fact that Thomas Payne is only 5'7. Enjoy.

_ JT took the card, rough fingers made clumsy brushing Malcolm’s own. “Thanks, Malcolm.” He said with a weak smile, the sound of his name in his mouth sending a little thrill down Malcolm’s spine, “You’re not so bad yourself.” _

_ Malcolm hid a smile behind his beer, watching JT read and reread the card, his eyes drying. _

* * *

An hour later, they’d moved to shots and somehow found their way onto the topic of birds.

“Even Darwin found them fascinating,” Malcolm said, loose-limbed with his socked feet on the coffee table, “Are you saying birds aren’t good enough for one of the most profound theorists of evolution?”

“Don’t drag science into this,” JT grumbled, chin on his chest and eyes half-shut. “I just think it’s weird that you have socks with birds on them.”

Malcolm wiggled his toes to the best of his ability, the little embroidered birds on navy blue burry. “They were a gift from my sister.” He turned his head in JT’s direction, weighing the risks and rewards of asking him to pour them another set of shots. “Because of Sunshine.”

“Sunshine?”

“My parakeet.”

JT pushed himself up on his elbows, angling his body towards him with his eyebrows raised, the beginnings of a smile quirking his mouth. “Your _ parakeet_? You have a bird?”

“Yes,” Malcolm scowled at his socks, defensiveness cutting through pleasant intoxication. “What about it?”

“Relax, Bright. It’s just the kind of weird thing you’d be into.” JT’s knee bumped playfully against Malcolm’s thigh a little too hard and he slid onto the floor with an _ oomph _ as the impact knocked his legs off the table. He barely heard JT’s frantic apology over the giggle that bubbled out of him, and once it did, it was like a dam bursting. He had to hold on to JT’s leg to keep from keeling over entirely, dissolving into hysterics. He dropped his head onto JT’s knee, entire body shaking with laughter.

“God, you’re so weird,” JT’s voice was warm and he hauled Malcolm up into his lap by his collar. Malcolm snickered, looping his arms around the detective’s neck and kissing him on his grinning mouth. He pulled back the moment his brain caught up with his body and he jerked back, scrambling past the drunken haze blanketing his memory to remember where he’d left his shoes so he could grab them and run as quickly as possible.

“I was wondering how long it was gonna take you to quit staring and actually _ do _ something.” JT’s hand wrapped around the back of Malcolm’s neck and pulled him in for another kiss. “Mmm,” Malcolm moaned against his lips, anxiety fading away (mostly). “You taste like whiskey.”

“_You _ taste like shut up and kiss me.” JT pressed him back into the couch and Malcolm melted into cushions, the heat and weight of JT’s body soothing him like a weighted blanket. His mouth was hot and demanding and Malcolm yielded to it, giving JT’s bottom lip a sharp nip to feel the detective jump.

Malcolm shifted to plant his feet on the couch on either side of JT’s hips, which rocked forward immediately. His surprised moan was muffled by JT’s mouth and Malcolm grabbed at the muscles of his shoulders as he began to rut against him properly.

“Not–nnh–not wasting any time, huh,” Malcolm’s voice was breathless to his own ears as he dropped his head back, which JT took as an immediate invitation. He sealed his lips over Malcolm’s neck and sucked in long, steady pulls until Malcolm squirmed beneath him, fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Why bother?” JT didn’t lift his head, his breath against the fresh hickey making Malcolm shiver, “I know you don’t want to wait. You haven’t exactly been subtle, staring all night.”

“That obvious?” Malcolm grinned at the ceiling over the mass of JT’s back, each press of his hips sending pleasant thrills up Malcolm’s spine. He slid his hands down to feel muscles move under JT’s skin, then raked his nails down to the line of his belt, fabric catching under his fingers. JT hissed and bit down on his pulse point in revenge, letting up a moment later to growl, hoarse in Malcolm’s ear, “Don’t make me ruin you, Bright.”

“God,” Malcolm moaned, the words sending a pulse of heat through his body, “Ruin me.”

* * *

They fell heavily onto JT’s bed, Malcolm still in his arms; he’d been too overwhelmed to stand and JT had taken full advantage, lifting the smaller man and cradling him against his chest. Malcolm had been able to hear his heart beat against his ear, fast and strong.

Untangling himself, JT rose to pull his shirt off over his head, gray fabric giving way to broad shoulders and an ugly scar across his stomach. “Keep up,” He said with a smile, nudging Malcolm’s knee as he stared, this time with open awe. “You need a head start, all those goddamn layers.”

“All the better for you to take off,” Malcolm threw back with a grin of his own, sitting up to fumble with the buttons of his shirt. The room tilted a little at the sudden motion and he found himself tilting with it until a warm hand settled on his shoulder, large enough that the fingers reached the sharp line of his shoulder blade.

“Easy,” JT said, crouching to meet Malcolm’s eyeline, eyes suddenly clearer and face serious. “You still good to do this?”

“Yeah,” Malcolm turned his face to press a slightly sloppy kiss to the tendons of JT’s wrist, “You just might need to help me out of this.”

And he did, taking his sweet time: for each button he undid, JT kissed or licked or nibbled freshly exposed skin, just his hands holding Malcolm upright as his mouth roamed his shoulders. Malcolm let his head loll back, desire a desperate heat burning low in his stomach. The moment the last button was undone, he shoved JT back, shrugging out of his shirt and throwing it off the edge of the bed without bothering to see where it went. JT laughed: “I was expecting you to take a break to fold it. You’re so uppity about your clothes.”

“I like to look nice,” Malcolm protested, shivering as JT’s thumbs brushed over his nipples, fingers fanning out over his chest.

JT snorted. “That’s one word for it.”

Malcolm planted his hands on the bed behind him, arching his eyebrows. “Yeah? What would you call it?”

“I’d call you…” JT trailed off, his gaze washing over Malcolm from head to knee and back. “Pretty. And fragile. Like those birds you like.”

“Oh,” Malcolm said, eyebrows furrowing slightly. He wasn’t sure how to take that. JT laughed, the sound warm and light, and he moved to straddle Malcolm’s legs, compressing him into the mattress. He was surprisingly gentle, his hands adding to the heat already swimming in Malcolm’s veins. His entire body was warm, edging on hot, feeling blurry and pleasant from alcohol and arousal. “Is that a good thing?”

“Oh yeah,” JT rose over him, grin bright and face flushed, “I like ‘em little.”

Malcolm returned the smile, running his hands up JT’s arms to map the muscle. “I’m not even going to try to be offended by that.”

JT laughed and descended again, sucking more marks into Malcolm’s shoulders. He arched into the suction, following the blood JT’s mouth pulled to the surface of his skin. Reaching up to snag his fingers in JT’s short hair, Malcolm dragged his head up to kiss him, hard, wrapping his legs around his waist and curving upwards to press their bodies together. JT ground down, running his tongue across the inside of Malcolm’s teeth.

Malcolm pulled his hair, hard, taking advantage of the distraction to tighten his legs and flip them. JT landed with a surprised grunt that Malcolm swallowed, only letting up when his lungs began to burn. He broke off, catching his breath as he sat up, shimmying back on JT’s lap. “Stay there,” He ordered, and watched lust flare in JT’s eyes.

Malcolm made quick work of his belt and zipper then grabbed two handfuls of denim and pulled down, hard. JT was erect, straining against his boxers, a wet spot marking the head of his cock. Malcolm stared, feeling his stomach flip with arousal. He was _ big_.

“Keep looking at me like that and you’re going to make me blush,” JT said, propping himself up on his elbows.

“I said ‘stay there,’” Malcolm jerked his head up, glaring until the detective slowly settled back down, expression somewhere between shocked and impressed. _ Narcissistic tendencies, _Malcolm thought distantly, then transferred his attention to JT’s cock. It was hot and heavy in his hand, even through the fabric of his boxers, and the detective groaned, dropping his head back against the pillows. Malcolm caught sight of his fingers curling into fists and grinned.

He took his time sliding JT’s boxers down, biting down on the inside of his cheek as his erection sprang free, flushed dark with blood in a sparse nest of black curls. Malcolm thumbed at a prominent vein on the underside to feel the cock jump in his hand, the proof of the power he currently held sending a thrill through him that made arousal tilt towards need.

“Lubricant?” He asked, and practically lunged off the bed when JT gestured towards the cabinet. He rifled through the drawer, absently taking stock of the cologne on top of the cabinet next to two award plaques and another picture of family. Tucking away every detail for further consideration, Malcolm turned, took one look at JT’s face, and snickered. “Here,” He flipped the picture around, grabbed the lubricant and, after a moment of consideration, a condom. Better safe than sorry.

He shed the rest of his clothes, bird socks and all, and pulled the tangle of JT’s jeans and boxers off before dropping back onto the bed, reaching to plant a hand on the detective’s chest. A threat of “No you don’t,” was all the notice Malcolm got before JT caught his wrist and pulled. He landed on his hip with a surprised yelp and JT was on him in a minute. Malcolm thrashed, animal instincts suddenly shrieking at him to _ fight_, to _ run_.

“Woah, woah, Bright!” The weight vanished abruptly as JT leaned back, hands up. Malcolm snapped back into reality with a great gasping breath, reaching blindly for JT’s hands, his wrists, any part of him. “Don’t go,” He jackknifed forward, arms locking around the warm, broad body before him, face hot against JT’s shoulder. “_Please._”

“Kid—I’m not going anywhere, promise.” A warm hand settled in his hair, fingers carding through long strands. “Hey,” JT’s other hand rose to Malcolm’s upper arm and squeezed gently. “You with me?”

Still resting his head on JT’s chest, Malcolm breathed in the smell of him: cologne, beer, and the traces of leather from his jacket. “Yeah,” He breathed, pulling back, his face hot with shame. “Sorry. I don’t know what that was.” He reached for a laugh, which came out weak, nervous.

“Don’t apologize. Bright.” JT’s hand moved to cup the back of his skull, tipping Malcolm’s head gently upwards to meet his eye. “Do we need to stop?”

“No!” Malcolm spoke quickly, sharply, then moderated his tone when JT frowned. “No, I’m—I’m alright. It’s just, um. It’s been a while.”

“Mm,” JT hummed, bending his head to plant a kiss on the crown of Malcolm’s head. “Let’s take a break, alright? Do you need anything? Any water?”

“Water would be nice.” Malcolm cleared his throat, voice rough. JT stood with a final squeeze of his arm and Malcolm scooted backwards to rest his back against the wall, pulling the sheets over his lap when goosebumps rose across the skin of his thighs. JT returned a few moments later, motions easy, eyes clearer. He was sobering up. Malcolm took the glass offered to him and shifted to make room on the bed, drawing in on himself. JT sat and swung his legs over the edge, putting an arm around Malcolm’s shoulders and pulling him close as he sipped his own water. Malcolm nestled into the warm curve of his side, tugging the sheets along with him.

“You’re shaking,” JT said, resting his chin on the crown of Malcolm’s head.

“Just endorphins,” Malcolm muttered back, “Sex releases a rush of them in the limbic system. The hypothalamus in particular. The muscles contract during orgasm and release afterwards, which combined with heightened prolactin levels–especially in men–can make you shaky and tired post-orgasm.”

JT leaned back, tilting his head down to meet Malcolm’s eye, “Is this what foreplay is like for you?”

Malcolm sipped from his glass behind a smile, plucking at the sheets over JT’s thigh. “I thought people loved dirty talk.”

He felt the rumble of JT’s laugh against his ear and grinned outright. “I don’t think that counts as dirty talk, Bright.”

“Malcolm,” He corrected automatically, remembering the way he’d felt hearing his name out of JT’s mouth earlier. Reaching across JT’s body to set his glass aside, Malcolm pushed the covers off and slid his hand up the inside of one brown thigh, leaning forward to speak directly into JT’s ear. “Are you offering to show me how it’s done, detective?”

“Is that a formal invitation, Malcolm?” _ Are you okay if we start back up again? _

“It is.” _ Come and get me_.

JT drained the rest of his glass, cracked his neck with a bit more dramatic relish than Malcolm thought was strictly necessary, and reached for him. This time, Malcolm’s heart began to race at the appropriate rate as JT drew him in, drew him under, bracing his hands on either side of Malcolm’s head. His eyes were dark again as he dropped his head like he was going for a kiss, but Malcolm was faster, hooking both hands around JT’s neck and tugging at his earlobe with his teeth. They scraped over scar tissue and Malcolm delighted in the idea of JT wearing earrings before the piercings closed over.

JT retaliated immediately, biting at the curve of Malcolm’s jaw as he reached one hand down to press his thumb firmly into the tendon inside Malcolm’s thigh, dangerously close to his cock. Malcolm jerked before he could help it, teeth closing harder around JT’s earlobe, who then grabbed his thigh outright. His hand was big enough that it engulfed more than half of it and Malcolm moaned, unabashed, as JT dug his fingers in.

“You like it a little rough, don’t you?” JT squeezed harder and Malcolm let up on his ear to drop his head back, his grin feeling a little wild, a little reckless.

“You said you’d ruin me,” Malcolm said, letting his fingernails bite into the back of JT’s neck, “I want to see if you _ can_.”

“Now _ that’s _ an invitation,” JT said, grinning, and sat up to reach for the lubrication.

Despite his words, JT opened him slowly, free hand on Malcolm’s knee to keep his legs spread. Malcolm lay with his head to the side, mesmerized by the careful strokes of JT’s finger. It was obvious he’d done this before; this wasn’t the dry burn of a rushed jock looking for a quick lay before his girlfriend got back from a weekend ski trip. College sex hadn’t been Malcolm’s favorite beyond the purely cerebral, but at least the drugs had been good.

“Come back to me, Malcolm.” JT pressed another finger in alongside the first, slicked with fresh lubricant, and crooked them both until Malcolm moaned, nerves lighting with pleasure. “Usually you can’t stop talking, channel some of that energy.” He leaned forward to lick a stripe across Malcolm’s stomach, up towards his chest. “What are you thinkin’?”

“About how big your hands are,” Malcolm reached up to drag his nails across JT’s scalp, “God, and your dick is _ huge_.”

JT’s chuckle was a hot puff of air against wet skin and he turned his wrist suddenly, fingers twisting. “That’s better.”

Malcolm’s cock jumped and he brought up a heel to kick at JT’s back. “Which begs the question: why aren’t you fucking me with it yet?”

“Bossy.” JT withdrew his hand and hooked one of Malcolm’s calves over his elbow, holding there as he tore the condom open and rolled it on with impressive speed. Malcolm watched, tongue between his teeth in anticipation as JT cock pressed against him, then shoved inside him with the sharp snap of JT’s hips.

Malcolm shouted, sensation exploding upwards and out from the base of his spine to the tips of his fingers. “Juh,” he started to say, then JT fucked the word right out of him. The pace he set was quick and punishing and Malcolm clung to his arms for dear life, mouth open and gasping.

“Now I wish I’d told you my name,” JT said, grinning with a manic energy his disciplined, pistoning thrusts lacked. “That way you could scream it.”

“I’m–_ahhh_–sure, sure I can come up with something,” Getting out the words was a struggle with the intensity of JT’s thrusts, each smack of his hips making a fresh set of stars explode behind Malcolm’s eyes. He snickered before he could help himself. “_Come _ up with something.”

“_Such _ a weirdo,” JT muttered, hooking Malcolm’s leg over his shoulder. Malcolm yelped at it forced him lower on the bed, then _ howled _ when JT pounded back in, the new angle allowing his cock to slide in deeper and hit _ just _ right.

Malcolm clung as best he could with his knees nearly level with his ears, which rang with his own cries. “Ever r–read Shakespeare, detective Tarmee_ehhhll_?” Malcolm lifted his head, neck feeling precariously weak, and offered a feeble smile in response to JT’s half-glare.

“One more word out of you that isn’t a monosyllable and I’m gagging you, Bright.”

“‘Monosyllable,’ is that supposed to impress me?” JT slowed and Malcolm dug his heels in, doing his best impression of a barnacle as the detective stopped entirely, leaving behind an ache Malcolm _ needed _ soothed. JT reached to cover his mouth and Malcolm jerked his head to the side, managing to get out a quick “I was just gonna say _ we’re the beastwithtwobacks_!” before JT’s large hand clapped over the bottom half of his face.

Malcolm made it his business to suck two fingers into his mouth and arch his eyebrows at JT, putting on his best impression of pornographic _ do me _ eyes. The detective rolled his eyes and pressed his fingers down until Malcolm began to gag, then jerked them out a moment later with a shout.

“Did you just _ bite _ me?”

“You started it!”

“I’m going to have to get you an actual gag for next time.”

Malcolm felt himself light up from chest to face and grinned, stroking his heel down JT’s back. “You think there’s going to be a next time?”

“Sure,” JT rolled his hips with a charming smile and Malcolm couldn’t say which made him want to melt more if his life depended on it. “Unless you keep quoting Shakespeare.”

Malcolm mimed the action of zipping his lips and chucking the key over JT’s broad shoulder. JT’s laugh made the ridiculousness of it all worth it and it was all the more sweet when the detective’s hips began to move again.

He picked up the speed he’d lost in moments, readjusting his grip to hike Malcolm’s thigh higher until his foot was practically pointed at the ceiling. He nearly squealed with delight as JT hammered into him even harder than before, abandoning sound entirely when JT reached down to wrap a hand around his cock.

When Malcolm came he saw spots, toes curling until his feet cramped. Muscles failing, he dropped his arms from around JT’s thick neck and went entirely limp, floating. JT planted a hand on either side of his head, letting Malcolm’s legs fall heavy and boneless on the bed, and ploughed into him without restraint. Malcolm winced, the aftermath of his orgasm beginning to tilt towards oversensitivity, when JT dropped over him with a groan, rhythm stuttering and stopping as he came. They both lay there, panting, the sweat on their skin starting to cool.

“Oh my god,” Malcolm told the ceiling after a while as he blindly grabbed a fistful of sheets and dragged them over the two, “I’m never going to be able to walk again.”

JT snorted a laugh into his neck and pulled out, making them both grimace. Catching the condom, he knotted it and rose from the bed to the trash to throw it away. Malcolm turned his head to watch, letting his eyes wander. There was another scar on his lower back along the line of his spine, this one surgical. Malcolm squinted, running through what Martin had taught him about the nervous system, then made himself drop the line of thought entirely and just enjoy the view.

But he couldn’t stay here. He entertained the idea of asking JT to tie him up, but the mental image of himself thrashing in the throes of a night terror didn’t exactly scream _ will you call me tomorrow? _

JT was crawling under the sheets before Malcolm could move to rise and slung his broad arm over his narrow shoulders. Listening to the detective’s breath begin to slow, Malcolm settled back into the mattress, turning onto his side to curl against JT’s warm flank. Malcolm closed his eyes, more tired than he could recall being in a long time. It couldn’t hurt to stay a little longer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm began to rise only to be met with resistance in the form of a warm arm slung over his shoulder, brown against the light sheets. Not just any arm, detective Tarmel’s arm.
> 
> Huh, Malcolm thought, When did that happen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought 'oh, I'll write another chapter, just throw in some more smut,' then this happened. The only thing I love more than these two fucking is these two talking.

Malcolm blinked awake, groggy, but at least it was only his head that was pounding, not his heart. He’d been hungover before, but it had been a long time. Fortunately, Mother’s tolerance was inhuman, and when it wasn’t, she had her tricks. A hangover was about inflammation and the immune system, which meant prescription strength NSAIDs no pharmacy would sell with a nice booster of vitamin B6, because Mother didn’t trust prickly pear extract. _ It’s not regulated. For all you know, they could just be sugar pills_, she said, looking over her shoulder as she stood in front of her extensive medication closet, many of which weren’t FDA approved. She’d waved him off when he pointed out that prickly pear extract didn’t need to be in a pill, it was available at Trader Joe’s, then she’d proceeded to go off on a tangent about how _ people like us don’t go to Trader Joe’s_.

_ But they have samples there_, Malcolm had said, then quailed at the look she gave him. They had shouting matches all the time, and that wasn’t the hill he’d wanted to die on.

Pushing past the vague craving for prickly pear juice, Malcolm began to rise only to be met with resistance in the form of a warm arm slung over his shoulder, brown against the light sheets. Not just any arm, _ detective Tarmel’s _arm.

_ Huh_, Malcolm thought, _ When did that happen? _

His first concern when the blurry events of last night crystalized into memory was that he’d kicked JT somewhere vulnerable during the night. It didn’t seem like it, though, and other evidence–untangled sheets, the fact that he’d slept through the night–suggested he hadn’t had a night terror. That was the hope, anyway.

His second concern was that he was probably going to die of thirst in the next three minutes if he didn’t get some water. JT was probably going to feel the same way when he came to, so Malcolm wiggled carefully out from under his arm to refill the two glasses beside the bed. He walked carefully, heel-ball-toe, heel-ball-toe, risking a glance over his shoulder at the bathroom door to make sure he hadn’t woken JT up. He filled the glasses from the sink at a trickle, blinking blearily at himself in the mirror. He actually looked fairly well rested, even if he needed a shave. More obvious was the smattering of hickeys across his neck and shoulders, some of them nearly the size of his curled fist. Malcolm gaped before he could help himself, leaning forward to poke at a particularly dark bruise beneath his collarbone. It hurt, and he pressed harder until it _ really _ hurt.

He forced himself to stop after poking at a few more, pushing down the stirrings of arousal. He could always do this at home, tonight and each night after as the bruises changed from red to purple to yellow. Maybe it would change the tone of his dreams.

He’d set JT’s glass on the dresser, carefully righted the picture he’d turned around the night before, and was pulling on his clothes when JT stirred. He came awake from head to toe, entire body unfolding in a stretch followed by a satisfied sigh. Panicking, Malcolm froze with one leg in his pants, then dove back into the bathroom. The other leg of his pants caught in the door when he closed it too a little too quickly and definitely too hard and sent him toppling onto the bathmat. He stayed there, whispering a litany of “fuck, fuck, fuck.” There was no way JT hadn’t heard that.

Sure enough, a knock came moments later, the shadow of JT’s feet cast beneath the door. _ Fuck _.

“Hey,” JT called, unmistakably amused. “Whaddya doing in there?”

“Um,” Malcolm said, “Hiding?”

JT cracked open the door and poked his head in, wearing a smile warmer than Malcolm had ever seen on him. Maybe on anyone, except Gil. That was just weird. This whole thing was just weird. Why had he stayed over? He should have just dropped off the soup, made sure JT didn’t lay down on his back and suffocate on his own vomit, and left.

“Whaddya hiding for?” The detective opened the door wider to lean his hip, his naked hip, on the frame. His arms were crossed, the faint lines tracking the paths of Malcolm’s nails raised across his skin. Everything about his body language was relaxed, from the cock of his hips to the gentle downwards slope of his shoulders. God, those shoulders. Malcolm was going to dream about those shoulders.

Malcolm floundered for a moment. It wasn’t so much a _ would you understand me if I told you? _ kind of hesitation as much as a _ would you get pissed at me if I told you? _kind. “I figured you might not want me to be here when you woke up, given the context of our, uh, liaison.”

“You sure do have a way with words,” JT said, stooping to pick up Malcolm’s pants and fold them over his arm. “Were you trying to sneak out because you thought I’d wake up and regret it?”

“That’s…exactly right.” Malcolm stood against the wall slowly, running his hands up his thighs. “Maybe you should be the profiler, huh,” He said, smiling anemically, and glanced at the door before he could stop himself.

“If you even try to run, Bright, I’m gonna throw your own pants at you.” JT said, deadpan, and jerked his head towards the main room. “Get dressed if you want, then come on out. Jimmy Dean makes a mean breakfast sandwich.”

They didn’t talk much over breakfast, though Malcolm was prepared to take the blame for that. It took almost all his willpower to eat the entire sandwich offered to him, the egg rubbery and the meat underseasoned, the whole thing settling uneasily in his stomach.

“Not up to snuff with your distinguished palate?” JT asked, eyebrows raised over his coffee. There was no judgement there, necessarily, but definitely an underlying hint of discomfort. Not with Malcolm in particular, he’d noticed: JT responded critically and dryly to signs of great wealth. Something to do with a worldview created off living off the wages a single mother made now challenged by the thousands-of-dollars-a-month apartments they now investigated murders in. Sociology had a term for that. It wasn’t cognitive dissonance, but it was something kind of like that. Probably. Ainsley would know better, that had been one of her majors. _ Social psychology_, she’d told him when they were in college, a little drunk and a lot stubborn, as was the Whitly way, _ is the wave of the future to solve the problems of the present. _

_ Wow, _ Malcolm had said, clumsily braiding her hair into knots where her head lay in his lap, _ that’d make a great headline. _

“No,” Malcolm said, then hastily added, “No, I just don’t really like food. In general. The medication I take makes me nauseous if I eat.”

“Sounds healthy.” JT remarked, and Malcolm stared pointedly at the black coffee in the detective’s mug. It was chipped in two places and faded, but the words were still legible.

“Are you really the world’s best big brother?” He asked by way of conversation. That needling JT would distract him from his roiling stomach was a latent benefit.

“Damn right,” JT said, turning the mug towards himself with an unmistakably fond smile. “Two younger sisters. One’s training to be a social worker, the other’s a nurse.”

“Compassion runs in the family.” Malcolm could picture the values he and his sisters were raised on, values that guided all three into fields that served others. Served the greater good, too. The Witlys wanted notoriety, the Tarmels seemed to want nearly the opposite. To be a beneficial part of the whole, putting themselves into somewhat thankless professions because they knew their communities needed them. “Are they both in New York?”

JT gave him a look that was equal parts annoyed and surprised. He probably felt like he needed to defend his sisters, the knee-jerk reaction of the _ World’s Best Big Brother_, but couldn’t justify it based on what Malcolm had actually said.

“Yeah,” JT said, “Same as yours.”

Malcolm grinned, pride sudden and bright in his chest for no reason whatsoever. “You’re absolutely right! How did you know?” He set his elbows on the table, leaning forward eagerly. 

JT’s eyes were saying _ I think you’re strange _ but also _ I can play this game, too, bet you didn’t see _ that _ coming_. “Your family’s legacy, you’ve been here for generations. Your mom is here, you’re here, so I figured your sister has to be here, too.” He didn’t mention Martin. _ Tactful._

“That’s exactly right. She moved away for a while, lived in Chicago with her boyfriend, but came back after a few years. My mother was worried about the crime there.” JT snorted a laugh at that and Malcolm grinned. _ Look at you, _ he thought, the sense of pride turning inward, _ making friends_.

“Are you older or younger?” The detective gathered the plates, waving off Malcolm’s hasty offer to help, and washed them both with a perfunctory efficiency before setting them upright in a drying rack. Military training showing up in his everyday routines; he hadn’t let himself get deconditioned.

“Older.” Malcolm shifted too quickly on the couch and it made his ass ache despite the give of the cushions. “I’m definitely not the world’s best brother, though. She generally worries about me more than the other way around.”

“That doesn’t surprise me even a little bit.” JT returned to his seat, kicking his bare feet up onto the recently vacated tabletop. “You make all of us worry.”

Malcolm was halfway to his usual protests: _ I can take care of myself, I’m fine, a lot of people sleep less than I do _ before his mind caught on the _ us_.

“‘Us’ as in the team?” He knew Gil worried about him, that’d been clear since he was ten when Gil gave him his first candy and thanked him for saving his life. Dani didn’t seem to care beyond the required degree and a begrudging sense of camaraderie over similar addictive behaviors past and present, and before last night, he would have pegged JT’s aloof concern as one based solely on ensuring the team operated as effectively as possible.

“No, ‘Us’ as in the Jordan Peele movie.”

“Ooh,” Malcolm shivered dramatically just to see JT roll his eyes, “That one was scary.”

“_That’s _ scary to you? Every case you’re on could be its own episode of American Horror Story.” The detective’s gaze flicked over him and he heaved a sigh, taking his own turn, Malcolm thought, to exaggerate. “Are you really cold, or are you just faking for attention?”

Malcolm pulled his legs up onto the couch next to him, nestling back into the corner between the arm and the back. “I can be two things at once.”

Another eye roll, then JT was standing, crossing the short distance to flop down on the couch and haul Malcolm over by the nape of his neck, halfway against his side and halfway into his lap. Malcolm righted himself, one knee between JT’s and the other framing his hip with both hands on his chest. His very warm chest, padded comfortably with muscle and fat. Malcolm draped himself over the larger man like a blanket, wrapping his arms around his neck.

“Are you cold blooded or something, Bright?” JT’s hands followed goosebumps down his back and Malcolm shivered genuinely this time, feeling the detective do the same when he breathed deliberately on his neck.

“No,” He said, “My dad just didn’t hug me enough as a kid.”

JT’s fingers jabbed into a tender spot on his side, just between two ribs, and Malcolm jerked back with a yelp only for JT to catch him by the shoulder. “That’s in such bad taste I don’t even know how to deal with it, you complete psychopath.”

“Trust me, I’ve been told. Freud would have _ loved _ me.” Malcolm experimentally pressed his knee forward into the apex of JT’s thighs, and when the bigger man didn’t push him away, pressed harder until the detective twitched. His hands shifted to grip Malcolm’s shoulders properly, thumbs digging into hickeys beneath each wing of his collarbones. Malcolm pressed harder, then JT pressed harder, the cycle continuing until Malcolm could feel the rigid line of JT’s erection against his knee.

“Not just Freud, huh?” He reached down to replace his knee with his hand, kneading the detective through his boxers.

“Man, shut up.” JT gave him a sharp smack on one buttock and Malcolm jumped, sitting up sharply, an idea forming in his head and solidifying into a knot of arousal low in his stomach.

He could picture it, dropping off his couch to his knees, _ I know what will shut me up_, but what came out of his mouth was, “Can I suck your dick?”

JT blinked at him and Malcolm bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“Why do you think you need to ask for permission?” His voice slid into the same tone he’d used the night before. _ Do we need to stop this? _

“Consent is important.”

JT moved his hands to settle on Malcolm’s waist, head leaned a little to the side in a way that made him want to grind his teeth. JT was about to say something that betrayed how he thought about Malcolm: that fragile bird, that fragile _ child_. The familiar memory of sitting cross-legged in Dr. Le Deux’s office, some stuffed animal or another in his lap, made his throat burn with shame. He began to pull away when JT spoke. “It’s not just that, is it?” His voice shifted one more degree towards seriousness. “I’ve been a cop for years, I know what it looks like when someone’s avoiding a question.”

“Look,” Malcolm huffed out a breath, dropping his eyes to look at a birthmark on JT’s chest. He forced himself to look back up to ask, “Did I have a nightmare last night?”

JT didn’t hesitate. “Yeah,” he said, “So what?”

“Did I kick you or anything?”

“No, but you elbowed me pretty hard in the ribs. Several times.” There was a smile in JT’s voice, but Malcolm couldn’t look at his face, throat working as he swallowed. This had happened before. Nobody had ever said _ you’re a good fuck but please leave immediately _ , but that had been the general reaction to one night stands. That’s what made them _ one _ night stands. Even if he started seeing someone, it became an unspoken rule that they never stayed over. _ I’ve never slept with anyone before_, he’d told Dani, but he hadn’t added _ it’s better that way_.

He pushed away the self-pity, disgusted with himself. _ Narcissistic tendencies_.

“Come back to me, Bright.” Another slap, this one gentler, this one on his side. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

_ Do you want to know? _ Malcolm thought, then smothered it. Tucked that irritation away to kick the shit out of later when he went to the dojo. “It’s nothing,” his mouth said quickly, automatically, laying the usual groundwork. “I just don’t feel great about keeping you awake. Letting you see...that.”

“So it’s an apology blowjob?” JT made a face and Malcolm tensed, ready to deny it, even if it was true. “Is that it?”

“It can be two things at once.”

“Yeah? What’s the second part?”

Malcolm looked down, tracing the head of JT’s cock over his boxers. He wanted to stick his hand inside and feel its weight, its shape. “You have a really nice dick.” He shot a quick, shit-eating grin at JT, who didn’t return it. He didn’t _ not _ look interested, though.

“You definitely didn’t have any complaints last night.” Finally a smile, though he pulled Malcolm’s hand away by the wrist. “But I’m not letting you give me an apology blowjob, that’s fucked up. Even if you _ did _ have something to apologize for.” His eyebrows furrowed, forming a line across his forehead. “Is this what happens when you’re not at work? You just apologize for shit? Because I gotta say, I prefer you the other way. The holier-than-thou Malcolm Bright never would have asked to suck my dick, he’d already be doing it.”

“The holier-than-thou Malcolm Bright still thinks consent is important.” Malcolm freed his hand with a simple twist JT allowed and dropped it onto his thigh, letting his fingers drift higher, his touch light. An orchestrated seduction, because it was fun to see how JT reacted. (Because he’d been out of the game for half a dozen years.) “Can holier-than-thou Malcolm Bright have your permission?”

“If holier-than-thou Malcolm Bright stops talking about himself in the third person.” The detective gave him a little shove and Malcolm took the hint with a grin, bracing a hand on JT’s knee as he maneuvered onto the floor.

He began to lean in when JT smacked his palm against his forehead, stopping him. Malcolm glared upwards. “It’s not an apology blowjob.” He promised, and JT dropped his hand.

“By all means, then.” He spread his legs and ran one hand through Malcolm’s hair and down his jaw to pull down his bottom lip with his thumb. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“Famous last words,” Malcolm said, grinning, and dropped his head to mouth at the fabric over JT’s cock. It regained the hardness it had lost quickly and Malcolm licked until he was rewarded with the sight of JT’s fingers flexing in the corner of his eye. Malcolm rocked back to pull his boxers down, catching the detective’s sharp intake of breath as the damp cotton stuck to skin.

_ Yep,_ Malcolm thought to himself, _ I’m going to give him blue balls. _

Since last night had been a bit of a rush, Malcolm took his time observing. JT’s cock was flushed a few shades darker than the brown of his thighs, resting on the crease between it and the curve of his stomach. It was as thick as he’d remembered; his jaw was probably going to ache after this, too. He could feel his mouth watering already.

Malcolm caught JT’s chest start to rise, the precursor to a comment, and dug his nails into his thighs. They tensed and Malcolm didn’t bother looking up. JT had gotten the message not to argue last night; he’d get it now, too. Again, that thrill of power was a fist of arousal that clenched Malcolm’s guts, and he embraced it. It wasn’t like he didn’t have issues with control; it had to be somewhere on his long list of neuroses.

Malcolm waited for JT to settle back against the cushions, muttering a complaint, and continued. He started low, following the indent between JT’s testicles with his tongue to press it in pulses at the base of his cock. He continued his exploration upwards, testing and tasting for things and places JT reacted to.

He then proceeded to exploit those findings until JT’s hands were clenched so hard on top of his knees they were nearly shaking like Malcolm’s did on an average day.

Pulling back entirely with a wet _ pop_, Malcolm grinned up at the detective, thoroughly pleased by the stubborn set of his jaw. “You know,” Malcolm said conversationally, “If you wanted to use my hair as handles and gag me with your cock, I wouldn’t stop you.”

“Christ,” JT moaned, dropping his head back against the couch, pulse visible in his neck. “Where’d you learn to _ talk _ like that?”

“I’m not always quoting Shakespeare, Tarmel. Can you imagine? I’d still be a virgin.” Malcolm brushed his fingers through the hair on the inside of JT’s thighs, watching as the curls realigned themselves once his fingers had passed through them.

“Before last night, I figured you _ were _ a virgin.” JT’s fingers unfolded and flexed across his knees, blood returning to white knuckles.

“Yeah, of course you did. You’re intimidated by me. Demeaning my manhood is an effective coping mechanism, even if it’s an unimaginative one.”

That earned him a glare and Malcolm grinned, something predatory inside him honing in on the look on JT’s face, the size of his hands, the size of his cock. “That gagging thing doesn’t sound too bad right about now, does it?”

“I brought it up last night and you didn’t seem to hate the idea.” JT lifted a hand to card his fingers through Malcolm’s hair and he leaned into the touch, closing his eyes for a moment. In the next second, those fingers turned into a fist and dragged Malcolm forward until his nose was pressed to JT’s stomach, the detective’s cock sliding across his cheek. JT used the new handle to repeat the motion, leaving a wet streak of precome across Malcolm’s cheekbone in a simulacrum of fucking his throat in slow, long movements.

“It’s not going to take me a lot more before I start begging for your cock,” Malcolm said, raising his eyes to look at JT through his eyelashes, playing up the role of the eager sub he’d seen people respond to in college. He forced himself not to grin as he felt JT’s cock twitch against his cheek. _ Still got it, Bright. _ “I don’t actually have that much pride in getting what I want.”

“As much as I’d like to see that, I’m thinking I might accidentally blow a load on your nose just from this if you don’t get a move on.”

“You can have your cake and eat it too,” Malcolm said, reaching up to slap JT’s hand away before he snickered, adding, “Or _ I _ can, at least.”

JT was halfway to looking pissy before Malcolm ran the flat of his tongue up JT’s cock base to tip before sucking the head into his mouth. He heard the _ thunk _ of JT’s head back against the wall, his moan spurring Malcolm on. Sucking a quick breath in through his nose, he slid his mouth down as far as he could before he felt the blunt head bump against the back of his throat, just on the edge of triggering his gag reflex. He drew back, sucking as he went, beginning to get into a rhythm, like a swimmer: breathe, go down, come back up, breathe, repeat.

Swimming was boring, though, and Malcolm wasn’t about to let himself be forgettable. Pulling off to lave his tongue over the slit at the head of JT’s cock, he flexed his fingers where they gripped the base. “I’d come in my pants for you,” He said, leaning his cheek against JT’s thigh, “Dirty this expensive suit, just for you. Would you like that?”

Judging by the look JT gave him, eyes flicking down then back up Malcolm’s body, he would indeed like that. _ Thank god. _ He couldn’t get his hand in his pants quick enough.

Forcing himself not to lose focus, he guided JT’s cock back into his mouth, letting it rub against the inside of his cheek, careful not to let his teeth touch. “You’re kind of a pervert, Bright,” JT remarked, voice tight, and moved his hand to the back of Malcolm’s neck to pull him forward in a sharp, smooth motion that forced his cock deep enough to make Malcolm’s throat spasm reflexively, body jerking with it. He moaned through it, unable to help himself, his own hand moving at an almost frantic pace.

“Come for me,” JT said, holding Malcolm’s head down despite his thrashing, and he did, surrendering to the lightheaded bliss of the detective’s unrelenting hand and the taste of his cock. Nearly going limp in the comedown from his orgasm, the muscles of his thighs beginning to tremble, Malcolm only realized JT was coming at the bitter splash of seed down his throat.

JT pulled him off a second later by his hair and Malcolm turned his head into his knee, sputtering. “Should I apologize?” The detective asked breathlessly, fingers tucking some of Malcolm’s dislodged hair behind his ear in a strangely tender gesture that sent another shiver down Malcolm’s spine.

“Nah,” He panted, pulling his hand free to show off the come on his fingers. “It was very effective.”

“You’re…” JT trailed off, reaching over Malcolm’s head to offer him the tissuebox, which he took eagerly. Things were getting cold.

“I’m what?” He glanced up, using one tissue to wipe saliva from his chin.

“Not what I expected.” JT offered him a hand to get up and Malcolm ignored it for the time being, carefully tucking the detective back into his boxers.

“Why?” Malcolm rose a little unsteadily, legs too lazy to contribute much to the cause. JT caught him by the elbow to steady him and Malcolm nearly shook him off, a preemptive shell of defensiveness making him feel flushed. “Because I didn’t call you ‘daddy?’”

“For the sake of everyone you’ll fuck in the future, I’m begging you to let that one go. You keep bringing it up and they’re going to think you have some sort of complex.” JT made a face and Malcolm frowned, straightening his fly and trying not to grimace. Sticky underwear was a new sensation and he didn’t much care for it.

“Fine. What makes me unexpected, then?” He sat in the spot JT gestured at, legs braced wide to minimize discomfort. JT watched him with a small, contemplative frown.

“Gil worries about you. He’d always worrying about you. I thought it was just some obligatory thing, because of the whole,” He made a tactfully vague gesture and Malcolm nodded. “Yeah, that. But it’s not. He really cares about you, and he kind of has to, since you don’t seem to look out for yourself very well.”

“You’re thinking too much for someone who just had a phenomenal blowjob.”

“Don’t get all defensive, just hear me out. You don’t take care of yourself because you’re always trying to take care of other people. You push yourself to the point of, I don’t know, whatever it is that makes it look like you never eat and hardly sleep. Always working on your profiles. I just thought you were some arrogant asshole who got anything he wanted on mommy’s dime. But you genuinely give a shit, so.” He shrugged, looking across the room even as his hand fell on Malcolm’s knee. “Not what I expected.”

Malcolm mulled over that for a minute, eyes on JT’s hand. It wasn’t anything he didn’t already know about himself, but he’d never thought he’d hear it out of JT’s mouth.

“Well,” He said, taking JT’s hand to move it after giving it a quick squeeze. He stood and crossed to the doorway, bending over to put one shoe on then the other. He could feel JT watching him and was content to let him wait, let him stew in the anticipation. “You’re not what I expected, either.”

JT had leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and raised his eyebrows expectantly. Malcolm grinned at him. “You genuinely give a shit about _ me_.”

* * *

When he got home, Malcolm quickly caught up on his meds, bade Sunshine a cheerful hello, and turned over his affirmation for the day.

_ I trust in the universe to bring the correct people into my life. _

That was so cliché it made him scoff, even if he couldn’t resist a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a big thank you to everyone who reads, kudos, and comments!  


**Author's Note:**

> A little plug: batonblue made a Brimel discord, so if you want to talk about this magnificent ship, feel free to join us at https://discordapp.com/channels/647677286509969408/647677286509969411.


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